The Real World

So, I was at the laundromat again on Friday learning about life.  I’m happy we’ll finally be getting our new washer this month, after a taxing but novel summer of informative observations.

I’m actually a bit thankful our last washing machine was such a complete piece of crap.  That ‘Made in America’ logo on the side should be designed with far less pride, seems to me.

People-watching at the laundromat, located in the small city nearest us, population less than 19,000, is not like people-watching somewhere like the airport or the train station, or in a big city.  There’s no bustling around, no stressed out complaining, no strained glances at watches and clocks.

I found myself thinking repeatedly, “Are these the nicest folk you could ever meet?  Or just average folk?”

Because, when watching the media—whether the news or series or movies—one is often led to believe there’s a good deal of multicultural strife in lower income environments in this country.

This last time I was the only white person there, besides the owner.  Several women were chatting away in Spanish.  One black man, Nigerian I believe, judging by his dress, car and manners, stopped what he was doing twice in order to open the door for me.  Another gentlemen, Mexican, offered me his dryer, which was still piping hot with six minutes left on the timer. I happily accepted.

A few small kids were annoying, but that’s to be expected anywhere.

I like to go to the Mexican restaurant across the street afterward.  It started off as a taqueria with a line around the building just a few years ago, and has slowly expanded into a real restaurant, a hopping hot spot that seems to have a new addition built every month.  It’s run by a very pleasant and hard-working Mexican family and is full of gringos and immigrants alike, often sitting together.

I sometimes go to the grocery store too, also in this fairly diverse neighborhood.  I see lots of friendly smiles and neighborly encounters and a generally good mood among folks.  Sometimes this is surprising, because I can see that many are quite visibly ill, and a good many more are obviously terminally unhealthy.  The line at the pharmacy counter is usually the longest one.  They’re actively promoting the flu shot at the moment.

As I wait in the checkout line, and watch, I wonder:

What if they knew our “Smart Grid Space Fence Lockdown Surveillance System Police State Mega-Regions” will be toxic hellholes of farmed humans, by design?!

Remarkably (not), the newer the immigrant the healthier they look.  I often find myself wondering, had they known the truth about this country, and not just the daily variety show of propaganda our media exports worldwide, would they still choose to come here?

If they knew the vaccines are toxic and soon to be mandatory nationwide.
If they knew medical experimentation was justified from the highest levels and Disaster Corporatism the new and accepted normal.
If they knew the government and global corporations run everything hand-in-glove, just like a mafia, and the individual is powerless against them.
Would they still covet the ‘American Dream’?

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If they saw what I see, what many of us see, actually—that we are a country at war with the world, and with nature, and presumably between classes and races, but most especially within our own minds, our own realities—would they still choose to bloody their hands and souls in our epic global messes?

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A Futile Effort to End War and the Violent Insanity of the State https://kurtnimmo.blog/2019/11/01/a-futile-effort-to-end-war-and-the-violent-insanity-of-the-state/

“I began to realize in 1970, as did millions of other eighteen-year-old American males, that the government considered me little more than a dispensable body to be kidnapped and turned into a bullet-stopping slave.”

“The Pentagon devised a new tactic. Instead of drafting middle-class kids, they made “military service” “voluntary,” in other words only the desperately poor—and those brainwashed by lies and “patriotism”—are sucked into the war machine.”

“The American people are irrevocably brainwashed. The state has distracted and divided them into mutually antagonistic groups. Instead of focusing on the US-spawned horror of forever war—Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria—and economic warfare against an ever-growing roster of nations not submitting to neoliberal economic suicide (Venezuela, North Korea, Cuba, Nicaragua), the people are distracted by celebrity pabulum, sports, television shows pushing identity and sexual politics and, recently arrived on the scene, a corrosive and vile partisan war that has since the election of Donald Trump resulted in riots, looting, violence, and death. It is now common to hear people demand the assassination of the president and the incarceration of his wife and children.”

I know a few readers who will likely protest.  “Of course they’d still come here! Look where they come from, crazy woman, there’s many dozens of shittier countries out there!”  

And you’d be absolutely right in pointing that out.

But, those countries know they’re shitty.  That’s the critical difference.  They admit it openly.  I’ve yet to meet a Nigerian who believes he comes from the greatest country on Earth.

Personally, I’d have a lot more pride in my country if we could be that authentic.  Instead of our motto claiming we are: ‘The land of the free and the home of the brave’ we could admit instead we are: ‘The land of illusions and the home of sorcerers.’

It’s the fact that we’re expected here to have pride in our shittiness that I find so unbearably insulting.

Perhaps, instead of The Star Spangled Banner as our country’s marching theme song, we could consider this one, in the spirit of authenticity?

The Vice of Kings: A Book Review

The Vice of Kings: How Socialism, Occultism, and the Sexual Revolution Engineered a Culture of Abuse by Jasun Horsley

On the pervasiveness of child sexual abuse and trafficking in the global culture, Horsley’s book adds a critical dimension of insight.  Examining his own upbringing in elite, or at least wannabe elite circles, he weaves an intricate tapestry of how these deplorable practices have come to be accepted and even to proliferate in our modern era.

From the back cover: “The Vice of Kings maps the shadowy intersection between progressive politics, psychosexual research, intelligence programs, behavior modification, occult ritual and philosophy, and organized child abuse, to reveal long-term social and cultural engineering goals throughout the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.”

This book is a conspirology, to use his own terminology.  In it he takes the ‘whistleblower’s path’  which is a path I deeply respect, but which socially, as he rightly claims is: “the lowest and most despised station of all, a traitor not just to my class but to my blood—a dirty rat.”

“To bring it down to very simple terms, and to what I know for sure: The conspiratorial legacy I have inherited is that my father hated his father and was never able, or willing, to tell us why. He died still hating him, perhaps partially because he could never talk about the reasons why.  My brother also hated his father, and likewise died with (into?) that hatred. I am the last man standing, left staring at a powerful ancestral bond of hatred that, like Shakespeare, goes back countless generations. To begin to understand how and why this bond was created is to start to dissolve the hatred with understanding, which is the first stirring of love. But it also means looking more closely at the reasons for that hatred, and so finding the source of it.  And the closest, most immediate source is right here and now, within myself.”

He discusses at length the influence of The Fabian Society, well-known to conspiracy researches as the ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ of social engineering groups, displayed proudly on their ‘logo’. 

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I became interested in his work hearing this interview on Skeptiko: https://skeptiko.com/jasun-horsley-socio-spiritual-engineering-392/

“The prevalence of child sexual abuse in our society is a bitter pill to swallow. The idea that it could be organized, systemic and intentional (part of a ‘hidden policy’) is a whole bottle of bitterness.  Correlation does not equal causation; just because we can map an interest in promoting the idea of child sexuality, or in prematurely sexualizing children through various forms of interference, or, most disturbingly of all, in using the psychological trauma (stress) of sexual abuse to ‘crack’ psyches open and thereby shape culture at large, none of this proves that widespread child sexual abuse is a direct result of these interests or agendas. But I trust even the most skeptical reader will allow for some relation between the two.”

I’ve found this book to be a valuable contribution in navigating the shadowy world of the swamp creatures where the culture-shapers roam.

https://ruthiemmp.wordpress.com/2017/01/27/children-overly-exposed-to-hyper-sexualization-in-every-aspect-of-their-life-through-advertisement-clothing-and-accessories-toys-games-movies-televisionmusicsocial-media/

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Totally normal, nothing wrong here, the kids love playing dress-up, that’s all.

Conspiracy Theorists’ Theme Song Vote, or something

1. Baby Got Back

Whaaa?  I like big buts . . . Get it?

But . . . How did the magic bullet get ricocheted from the high rise to the grassy knoll, through the driver then the head and then Jackie stayed in sticky, bloody cloths all day? Have you ever tried that, even for like, half a day?

But . . . How did their passports just appear on the pavement of serious destruction, like serious fire and brimstone shyte, while the rest of the rubble was being shipped to China? 

But . . . What’s up with building 7?

But . . . Who is John Galt?

I LIKE big BUTs, yo! You, no?!

2. You need us, Gilligan’s Island

So obvious already, right?  If I need you and you need me and we need us and all this fuss, well, clearly we are a happy needy collective stuck together on a tiny island singing crappy songs that were shoved down our throats since childhood.  

3. B-52s, everything they ever did.  Own private Idaho, is your mind, what, I’m not your little girl? Limburger? WTF is she screaming that we called music and lyrics? That played in our malls and on our radios and now reinstalls itself in triplicate on my current rainbow filters, you assclowns!  Induce psychosis, call this alternative music.

4. Back in Black Aka, Nihilism 3.0.  Take the black pill, everything old is new again, we can dissect JFK until the cows come home in 2525.  If man is still alive.

Nothing new under the sun, son.

Rock the crowhouse, casbah.

5. Trump

I met a girl, of about 7

Her grandfather loved to sit on her, and laugh

Her uncle loved to throw seaweed on her head, and laugh

She was such a funny odd girl, they all said.

Why not throw seaweed on her head?

How she screams and gets so cross!

Can’t she see it is but moss?

Little fool, join the games.

Your kin delight in your chagrin

Sensitive girl

you see the lies we buy

but you don’t understand

how we love them.

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Right the Wrongs

We have all been misguided, of that I have not a shred of doubt anymore.  Our culture, our history, our news, our entertainment, our religions, our future, have been fabricated and falsified and manipulated in such horrific ways as most folks can hardly fathom.

And it’s going to get worse.  This is not some apocalyptic vision of mine, there are plenty of those going around, and for a very long time.  Forever, even.  I’m a tiny fraction of a grain of sand in that vast hourglass.

“. . . A clown-like, grinning mockery of the victim(s) as a show of power and macabre arrogance.  When this is performed in a veiled manner, accompanied by certain occult signs and symbolic words and elicits no meaningful response of opposition or resistance from the target(s), it is one of the most efficacious techniques of psychological warfare and mind-rape.”  —Michael Hoffman, Secret Societies and Psychological Warfare

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We can lay blame, and I often do, on our own selves, as well as others.  I didn’t invent society, I can’t change the shit-show I was born into, that was fate, or something.  You can complain your shit-show was worse, or better, and I won’t argue.  I imagine most folks around the world had it much worse, or better, for whatever that means.

When faced with this truth, the truth that we’ve all bought a pack of lies, we don’t have a lot of choice on how we react—anger, resentment, bitterness, confusion, frustration, apathy, hope, forgiveness, fear—the list goes on.  I know all these reactions have value, I take them seriously, I dismiss none of them as of more or less value than another.

 

But when they are not a transitory state, but where one then chooses to reside, we’ve allowed the reaction to dissolve action.  We must make great effort to move from the reaction to the response.

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Our response, not our reaction, is what defines our humanity.  Every animal will react in fight, flight, fawn, freeze, in order to save their own skin, unless they are impaired.

Human nature has a higher calling.  You stand for, you stand against, it doesn’t matter, you’ve got to take a stand.  Once you’ve taken a stand, you know you fall, you know what falling feels like.  That is the wisdom of the gods.

A boxer once told me, while I was cringing, trying to be polite in delicately couching the fact that I hate his so-called sport — “Boxers don’t train to fight.  We train to get back up.”

I was flabbergasted at the wisdom in that simple statement, which I’d never considered before, and with which he was able to so tactically and efficaciously respond to my reaction.

I think of this now, because, as much as I never liked sports, or games, still I’m somehow wired to think strategy.  I was born into a game I don’t understand, which no one gave me the tools or teachings to navigate, but to which I was expected to adapt nonetheless.  At some point I chose, and still choose, to not simply adapt.

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I’m weakening, physically, but my mind and tongue are still sharp enough to benefit where age and injury weigh me down.  I think that’s a sign of one’s wisdom years, now beckoning me to return to the studies that will find new meaning in re-engagement, with now decades of life experience to inform on their deeper meanings and interpretations.

I feel blessed for this time and space and luxury to reconsider.

ENMOD

And it’s Sunday, so let’s play  . . . YOU . . . Connect the dots!

Best game in town, give it a shot, hurr-y, hurr-y, hurr-y . . . . Drumroll, please!


And for our next dot, we have . . .

Philadelphia Attacked For Using ‘Sonic Weapon’ To Keep Kids Away From Parks

Next dot . . .

https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/BF00142579

”May We Engineer the Climate?
Not only is the science of climate engineering uncertain; the legal issues are also highly uncertain. Although existing international law does not specifically limit the freedom of states to undertake climate engineering, the international community would likely demand a say should climate engineering move from the realm of speculation to concrete proposals. The experience of other environmental regimes, however, suggests that developing an international decision-making mechanism would be difficult, and that the international community might opt for a simple prohibition on climate engineering on grounds of ‘precaution’.”

And, ready now, steady now, last one, folks! Take your time here, it’s the wild card, how will you play it, will you get the picture?  And, if you get the picture, will you see the forest f/or the trees?

https://uprootedpalestinians.wordpress.com/2019/08/03/global-coalition-of-the-willing-ordinary-iranians-style-resistance-multiplied-by-ethics-plus-justice-minus-oppression-divided-by-aggression/

Thanks for playin’ folks, next ride. . .

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Well-fed Sheep

Is our culture in a bottomless well, free falling since, well, I don’t know when, exactly?

But the decline sure seemed to accelerate sometime during the decade of the 1980s.

Aptly named album: “The Road to Ruin” — song: “I want to be sedated” — That about sums it up, no?  

I think there’s only two lines of lyrics yelled to a monstrous ‘melody’ that gets stuck in your head like a really bad TV ad.  Included here for illustration purposes only.  Please, don’t listen, unless you have an immediate and effective brainwashing remedy to get the slime out.

What sophisticated music fills my adolescent memories?  Bach? Tchaikovsky? Dvorak?

Well, I was enamored with the ballet for a while, so I’m luckier than many.  And, of course there was Bugs Bunny.  I fear the kids today don’t even have good cartoons anymore!

In more ways than I can currently count, I think Crrow777 is spot on when he repeats the old adage: “All roads lead to Rome.”  Unfortunately it seems to mirror the lame cliche: “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

For those in the rest of the world trying to figure out what kind of insanity is happening in this country, let me assure y’all, we have only a few clues, and please do understand, Americans are the most propagandized population in the world, I’d be willing to bet.

George Carlin had it as close to right as I’ve heard so far: American Bullshit. Brilliant.